


Delicate

by Sys



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 13:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20583356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sys/pseuds/Sys
Summary: Joan and Sherlock try to prepare for the storm to come? Spoilers for 7.13.





	Delicate

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially a new chapter for Promises to keep. Only that it didn't really fit the bill anymore by the time I was done writing. So uh... feel free to read this as an outtake? Or a continuation of Rules? Or its own story... :D  
I really hope nobody's disappointed that this isn't very "M". But I'm fairly "better safe than sorry" about ratings.

The Brownstone is quiet, now that Rose and Arthur have left, and he longs for a topic to talk about. Any topic. But routine’s returned to their movements, and they don’t need to discuss dinner. The kettle’s boiling their tea water and he’s cutting bread to go with a light salad while she’s setting the table. It’s an unwritten law, sitting down for dinner if there are no other plans rushing their steps. And nothing would take him from her side tonight. 

They eat and drink in silence. Do the dishes. And at a glance he follows her upstairs. 

It takes him a moment when they find themselves in the bathroom and she holds out scissors to him, her gaze as solemn as determined. He doesn’t ask because her eyes tell him not to question this. To go along with her wishes and let her claim what little control she has about the days and weeks to come. Strands of hair fall to the scissors and onto a cover prepared to catch them. She planned this, of course. But really, who’d mention it ahead? 

When the scissors have done their part, he claims a razor already laid out for the purpose and she almost smiles, likely remembering the same night he does. The buzzing is familiar, almost comforting, as he carefully removes her hair as closely to the root as he can without hurting her skin. She avoids moving, simplifying his task, but it is hard, still, to take the hair she wants gone before the first treatment. To refrain from telling her about the statistics, about the chance that perhaps she would not have lost her hair at all. To finish his task and set aside the razor. Clean away the hair. And wait as she studies herself in the mirror.

She doesn’t cry. That worries him as the sight hurts deep inside. But he has no right to cry if she is brave about this. If she just studies herself with great care, as if someone might sit her down with a sketch artist. 

After minutes or hours she forces a smile before she turns away. Holds out her hand and he can guess the next stop. The media room is prepared, too, he catches a whiff of fresh popcorn, though when she’s had time to make that remains a mystery he doesn’t need to solve. It is there. As is her red cardigan, awaiting her on the arm chair. She waits, though, glancing pointedly, so he settles in the chair, unsurprised when she curls into her cardigan and settles on his lap.

His arms filled with Watson, he sits through another of the sappy romance movies she likes to watch when she’s upset and there’s no Mets game to turn to. Not that _Watson_ actually watches the movie with her head resting on his shoulder and her back turned to the screens. She listens, though, because he hears soft laughter at some particularly foolish line. 

And she relaxes into the softest lines his fingers can draw across her back. 

He cannot wake her when the movie’s over. Well he could, obviously. But he cannot bear to disturb her. Just holds her as she grows heavier against his chest and shoulder and the circulation in his limbs begins to protest. The boredom is almost worse than the bones cutting into his flesh and muscle tissue. They’re not visible, yet. But with everything ahead that might just be a matter of time. Will just be a matter of time. He’s read about it. Read too much about everything they need to prepare for to enjoy the soft, even breathing against his neck. 

But it lulls him. Eventually. Because he’s disorientated when he feels her stir in his arms.

It’s too cold when she rises and pads off towards the bathroom. Not that it’s terrible, being able to rub some feeling back into the various joints cut off. By the time she flushes he’s able to rise again. Claim the bathroom himself as she grants him some privacy. They’ll still need to wash and brush their teeth. But they can share the sink for that if bedtime’s imminent. 

When they’re done it comes as no surprise that she studies him and glances towards her bedroom. What surprises him a little is that they take off _all_ their clothes. That’s rare for Watson. She usually prefers to keep her knickers if all they want to do is share the bed. Not that they’ve really done that often enough for him to be an expert on the matter. 

To surprise him further she climbs on top of him only to roll them over, trapping her beneath. They’ve played at switching positions to find out what they’re comfortable with. But she’s happier beside him. Or above him. Usually. Thankfully the rest of their agreement still holds. He’s happy enough to kiss her. Again, and again. Her mouth, her neck. Her head, too. But he’s not in the mood for sex and she is. So he assists her hand in its endeavor. Listens to her moans and feels her tremble. Moves lower to use his mouth, his tongue. She _really_ likes his tongue, he’s proud of that, though he knows better than to tell her. Praising his skills is the best way to ensure that she won’t take him back into her bed for months.

Still it is tempting, very tempting, to find out if he can still make her scream his name. But he knows better. Just keeps her entertained until his tongue aches. He’s out of practice, it’s as simple as that. But the air’s filled with Watson and she’s wonderfully sweaty and salty as he kisses his way back up to her mouth. Strokes her gently, just in case she’d like to come again. Watches that moment of bliss when she’s barely aware of her surroundings. 

And tries to ignore the missing hair that painfully reminds him of everything that’s ahead.


End file.
